


Homecoming

by bexacaust



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Homecoming, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: The creak of furniture and the thud of a sliding door slamming open.“…Cooper?”





	1. Arrival

_I’ve been readin’ books of old-_   
_The legends and the myths._   
_Achilles and his gold;_   
_Hercules and his gifts…_

 

There was something about coming home.

The rattle and clatter of his busted and worn cane being hung by the door he shut by leaning against it. The rasp of soft shoes on the scuffed floor. A hat discarded haphazardly though Bentley had warned him a thousand times to hang it properly before someone stepped on it.

Footsteps, slow and tired and plodding- but no longer muffled by old sand and eroding stone.

His tail dragged behind him, his ears were lowered- the tips were furless and bristly with the regrowth from storms a thousand years in the past beating against them.

He sneezed.

“…Bentley, you hear that?”

A nasally “Yeah…”

The creak of furniture and the thud of a sliding door slamming open.

“…Cooper?”

A very tired, very weary thief looked up, and smiled weakly before he waved with a limp and sore hand.

It was Murray who bolted forwards as Sly dropped like a sack of cash to the floor- the brawler lifted his brother-in-arms with an easy kind of klutz’s grace, one arm supporting Sly’s back and the other under still-sun-heated legs and Sly yawned like he hadn’t slept in centuries.

Bentley’s chair whirred softly as he wheeled in; the rustle and his of Sly’s sleeve being tugged and pulled and finally torn.

“He’s got some bad fur loss- looks like heavy sunburning too. Heatstroke is a definite possibility.”

“I can feel ‘im breathin’ real hard, Bentley.”

“We gotta cool him down, c’mon.

Sly hummed softly, eyes unfocused as he tried to lean away from Murray’s bodyheat and hissed. Bentley’s glasses shone in the light as he led the hippo and his burden to the large bathroom and leaned to run the water- cool and clean but not icy.

“Should we strip ‘im?”

“Get that raggedy blue thing off him, yeah. Get it all off of him, we gotta cool him down carefully.”

“Mkay.”

Sly hissed again, wincing when he felt more tugging and pulling and nearly yowling when he felt something shock him with a lower temperature. He slitted an eye open he didn’t remember closing, and looked from blurry image to blurry image.

Bentley was already dialing help, taking a breath from an inhaler before he spoke in soft tones.

“Yeah, it’s looking like real bad heatstroke, burns, scrapes, scratches, you name it. Carmelita, listen; I don;t know HOW he got back, but that isn’t important right now! Just get us a transport, and don’t breathe a word to ANYONE that he’s around. We already have a place to get him but the van has a busted something-or-other and Murray hasn’t gotten it back working- thank you.”

Murray knelt by the full tub, not noticing when water splashed onto his shirt as he pushed the cool liquid over Sly’s shoulders and snorted at the chirruping rumble that vibrated the thief in pleasant contentment.

“He’s gonna have a real story for us, isn’t he Bentley.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine so. Once we get him patched up though.”

Everything went static.  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

When Sly came to, he heard the sound of beeps and pings. One ear rose higher, twitching, before his eyes blearily slid open and he blinked. Murray was sitting propped up in a chair and dozing- low snores tripping through the air as Bentley sat with a laptop open and the screen glow lighting up his face.

Someone squeezed his hand.

When he turned his head, grimacing at the feel of sweat-damp neckfur, everyone seemed to notice-

Including the one next to him.

“Good morning, ringtail.”

“Am I dead?”

“Not this time, Sly.”, rattled Bentley, “But you came REALLY close, it was touch and go once we realized you were cooling down too slow and you passed out in a bathtub.”

“Not the first time I’ve done that.”

“Stolen champagne binges on New Years Eve aside; it was still scary.”

Murray snorted awake, yawning wide and flashing ivories before he blinked and broke out a ten-thousand watt smile.

“Sly! You woke up!”

Sly nodded weakly, reaching with his free hand to scratch at his other ear and hissing when he bumped stitches. Carmelita huffed, sounding annoyed even though her touch was gentle and she rubbed the spot he was reaching for.

“You look like you fought a lawnmower and lost.”

“Aw, thanks sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

Sly grinned, “Feisty.”

She gave him a deadpan, and flicked the tip of his ear. He flinched and frowned before she let go of his hand and reached down near her feet.

A bag thumped onto the makeshift medical bed, and she looked almost smug.

“You look like garbage and smell pretty close to it to. I made sure to bring some of your things for you, you vain wreck.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love and cherish your existence?”, he wheezed before sitting up cautiously and unzipping the small duffel, “God bless you you remembered the good tailcomb.”

She rose from her seat in unison with Murray, “Put yourself back together- bathroom is through the door by Murray’s chair. Mind your stitches ringtail, give a holler if you fall.”

She sashayed out, tailtip flicking as the door closed behind her.

Sly groaned as suddenly the weight of sweat and dust and some kind of disinfectant seemed to sink past his fur to his skin.

Bentley cackled as Murray’s steps thudded to the door, “See you in a bit, right? No more shenanigans or disappearing?”

“Not for a really long time, ugh. I look like the bad end of a trade deal.”

“That’s mean to say about trade deals.”, quipped Murray. Sly put a hand to a still damp chest and gave the hippo a sarcastically offended look.

“Rude. See you two in a bit, I gotta get the millenia scrubbed off of me- I got sand in places sand is definitely NOT SUPPOSED TO BE here and man… it is grating.”

“Tooo much information.”, sighed Bentley, his chair soundless as he wheeled out and Murray followed.

Fitfully plucking at his matted tail, Sly detached the sensors from his body- wincing as his fur was pulled- and slid from the bed he was sitting upon. Still tired steps took him to the bathroom and the door shut behind him as he stretched and reached out with a foot to prod the shower dial.

Water hissed down, and he let himself relax.

He made it home.

And man… was it a tale for the times alright.


	2. Discussions: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay   
> For as long as you have time  
> So the mess that we'll   
> Become  
> Leaves something to talk about

"He's home, then."

Bentley looked up, eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he nodded slowly at Carmelita. The distant hiss of the shower seemed muffled yet loud in the room- a backdrop to the fox's nervous pacing back and forth and back again as she worried a thumbclaw between her front teeth. The lock of grey at her left temple seemed overbright in the light, dark eyes somewhere between fearful and relieved.

Bentley's chair stopped silently, only creaking when he leaned forward to put elbows on knees and steeple his fingers.

"Yes, Sly is home. Which means there will be a lot to talk about- on both sides.", said Bentley, "As well as the matter of his decompressing and mental state."

"HIS mental state, what about OURS?", said Carmelita, notes of incredulous annoyance in her voice.

Bentley's gaze turned frigid, "Because there is a high chance he encountered Clockwerk in the past. Without support, and without a safe place to come down from that kind of anxiety."

Carmelita winced, and Murray grunted - a sign of quiet anger and protective instinct.

"I'll boot up the protocols for the hazard room, as well as send Dimitri the last portion of the payment for getting us the medic he did - It's the least I can do, anyway. She didn't have to let us bring Sly home as early as she did, and I can tell she still didn't want us bringing him home that soon."

"We could have just taken him to a HOSPITAL-"

"And risk him fighting a doctor in a panic, thinking we'd been raided? No thanks. I've seen Sly in a panic, and it's not pretty."

Murray nodded, "Yeah, Sly can get pretty vicious when the time calls for it. While you do the whole hazard thing, I'll get something together for him to snack on. He looks like he hasn't had a real meal in, well, ages!"

Bentley hummed his agreement as Murray got to his feet; the hippo gave Carmelita an odd look - his eyes narrow and searching, and his head tilted, before he shrugged and plodded down the hallway to the kitchen. The room was filled with a cloying kind of silence, thick and poisonous like morning smog and old screaming matches. Bentley's chair whirred as it went into motion, rolling him towards Carmelita where she stood, continuiing to worry her claw with her teeth nervously.

"Miss Fox-"

"Bentley, I've told you, call me Carmelita."

"...Carmelita, listen to me.", he said quietly, "You and I have had our... differences in opinion. And personally, no I don't trust you around Sly. Not when I don't feel like you realize what he was willing to give up for you. But."

"But."

"All that aside, he missed you Carmelita. And it took a toll on him. And while yes, I know that part of his drive to come home was to keep our family together and whole... I know another part of him didn't want to live in a world you didn't exist in."

"Bentley, he lied to me. For a long time, and..."

"I know. I'm not saying the way he went about things was right; because it wasn't. Which is why you two need to talk. To each other. At length, preferably. But only when you two are ready, do you understand? I know you want answers; answers that Murray and I couldn't give you. But you can't bombard him with questions, not yet, okay?"

Carmelita sighed, and nodded, "...So, how did you know I was trying to figure out how to ask him about all this?"

"The pacing.", said Bentley with a chuckle, "He paces when he's antsy for info too."

"My ears are burning, who was talking dirt on me huh?"

Bentley's chair turned as Carmelita nearly jumped out of her skin and looked up to see Sly blinking in the doorway, mussed and damp and with bare patches where he'd been sewn back together again. Too late, Carmelita realized the t-shirt she had grabbed out of drawers she hadn't opened in ages had a crease over the front that pulled her uniform-accustomed gaze down. Against her will, it felt, she strode forward and felt Bentley's calm gaze mark her spine with two ice cold pinpricks as she reached out for the shirt's hem and tugged sharply.

She looked up to see Sly with his hands up as though being arrested, fingers relaxed and clawtips dull from long hours in gloves.

"...What?", she asked softly.

Bentley's chair whirred as he wheeled out of the room, fighting the smile on his face as he heard his raccoon comrade say, "...I missed y- this."

Carmelita coughed awkwardly, taking a step back and staring anywhere but Sly's face. His hands lowered, fingers flexing and the sound of popping knuckles sounded into the room. She frowned, reaching out to take the right one in both of her hands and peer at it as she turned it over to expose the dark palm - a fading latticework of tiny scars and callouses met her gaze, marks she had long since memorized as her thumb rubbed over them.

He closed his hand over hers; and she swallowed hard before looking back up at his tired smirk and still-hazey brown-amber eyes.

"Lita-"

"Not yet.", she said with a shake of her head, "Not til you get your head screwed back on and your stomach full, alright?", she hated how gentle her voice sounded, "Then, then we talk, okay?"

She hated how softly she spoke, how gentle her words felt as they drifted from her like lillies and remains of mourning long since passed. How long, how long had she dreamed of tearing into him and screaming until the burns on her heart had sealed over in patchy scars like a lizard's skin? How many times had she rehearsed every bitter word and every jilted sentence until she had cobbled together a dingy and dusty quilt of repressed emotions and distress?

And why, now, when he was standing in front of her, was she unable to call it forth? Why was it disintegrating into dust and gravesoil and turning to ash in the back of her throat?

And why did he still look so tired, so wounded, so hungry for something she was afraid to name?

"I'm sorry, Lita.", he whispered, and she wanted to tell him to stop, "I'll say it a thousand times until you believe it. I was wrong, I hurt you and it was wrong but I'm sorry, I'm-"

"Sly, not until you're on your feet.", she pleaded, not wanting to face the honesty his voice carried just yet, "Give yourself some time, and then we can see what's left of us."

He sighed, and nodded his reluctant agreement. He had yet to let go of her hand.

She wasn't sure she wanted him to.


End file.
